


Breathless

by TitaniumKitten



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 09:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6977494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TitaniumKitten/pseuds/TitaniumKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seth thinks Roman is going to be a piece of cake. Dean? He hasn't even thought of that lunatic. Not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> A little fic that popped into my head thinking about Seth and Dean after watching Monday Night Raw on May 23rd. Un-edited and a bit clunky, but I hope it works out. My second ever fic...ooh boy...

Seth paces backstage, fuming. So Stephanie is Shane’s little lapdog now. Shane should have just given him the title back, not make him have to fight for it. Sure Reigns has grown as a wrestler, but their Shield days were not that far behind them and Seth still knows the Samoan like the back of his hand. And he knows he’s a good strategist. People didn't call him the architect for nothing. Winning back the title is a given. How long he might keep it without the Authority on his side, that was another question.

He doesn’t let himself think about the prospect of whoever will win the Money in the Bank briefcase. He doesn’t acknowledge that with all of his pacing he has stayed keenly aware of his surroundings. Making sure that a certain dirty blond doesn’t interrupt him. Not with that smug little smirk Seth knows so well. A man who may finally hold that briefcase and cash it in on him. He can just imagine Ambrose's’ blue eyes crinkling at their corners as he smiles, looking down at Seth. The three count already finished, a referee handing over the title, HIS title to that lunatic. He hisses in pain, realizing he’s clenched his fists so hard that his nails are digging into his palms, his breathing quick and shaky. Got to shake this off, wouldn’t do to look weak on his first Monday Night Raw back. He decides to look for a bathroom where he can compose himself. 

He must have turned a wrong corner because he has no idea where he is. He sighs, frustrated and takes a right down another corridor. He’s not looking where he was going, still lost in his head. He made a mistake not remembering that Ambrose sometimes liked peace and quiet after a match and would find a place away from the locker room to take a breath. He hears a soft snort and whips his head up and to the left. Jesus, Ambrose is right there, sitting on a production case and unwrapping the tape from his hands. Seth takes a step back, bracing himself for a fight, but the taller man keeps seated. They stare at each other. Seth’s breathing stutters in the long silence. Ambrose finally breaks it.

“I guess we were luckier than them.”

“What?” Seth asks, hating himself for sounding breathless.

Ambrose waves his hand. “You know, the audience. The WWE Universe.” There’s that smirk, but to Seth’s eyes it looks brittle. About to break. And sometimes Seth gets a tiny pit in his stomach that he convinces himself isn’t guilt.

“I don’t know what you mean, Ambrose.”

“Took you what...a couple minutes to turn on them when you were out there monologuing in the ring. Me ‘n Roman...it took you two years to turn on us.”

Seth opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He’s furious that his usual well of sharp and biting comebacks has suddenly gone dry.

Ambrose waits a beat, finishing the unwrapping of his left hand. With no answer forthcoming from Seth, he gives that brittle smirk again while hopping off the case he was sitting on.

“Welcome back, Rollins.” he says, the ice in his tone biting into that tiny pit in Seth’s stomach. Making it just a little bit bigger. “You better remember how watch your back. Never know who could be coming for you.”

Rollins watches Dean walk off. He stops himself from calling after the man. Stops himself from showing weakness, from saying Dean’s name without the force of all the narcissism he’s built up over the years. The brunette's breath hitches as he stumbles in the other direction, eventually finding himself a bathroom where he splashes some cold water on his face. He stares at himself in the mirror, watching some stray drops of water roll down his cheeks. He tells himself that they don’t look like tears.

“It was worth it.” he whispers to himself in the mirror. He tries out his own smug smirk, happy that it isn’t brittle, isn’t broken. Wouldn’t do to look weak. “It was worth it.”


End file.
